In Search of Redemption
by The Winter Wizard
Summary: Percy Jackson is a deserter from the Titan War, having seen his family, friends, and soldiers under his command die to slaughter and betrayal. He lives as a hermit in the wild until he's offered a means of redemption by joining an old rival on a dangerous quest to save the kingdom he now loathes. He reluctantly agrees but his search for redemption might just destroy them all!


**Disclaimer:** _Percy Jackson and the Olympians _does not belong to me!

**Author's Note:** This is a severe AU set in a fantasy medieval world, well Greek fantasy with a few other creatures from other folklore mixed in perhaps. I don't have too much else to say other than there's some M-rated content but it's not smut or lemons. That might come but this is mainly violence-related and character-deaths that I'm talking about. Don't get too worried though as all shall be revealed soon. So without any further ado, allow me to present the first chapter of my latest endeavour!

**P.S. ** For any readers of my Eragon fanfiction, I am still continuing "Inner Wolf" and "Master and Slave." This is just a plot-bunny that sprang to mind which I might, or might not, continue.

**Chapter 1:** An Offer of Redemption

A young man stood on a wooden peer that jutted out over a sparkling blue bay. Rolling waves lapped softly at the sandy, shell-strewn shores. Rocks sprouted near the edges of the water forming small pools which housed clams and other wildlife. Tall stately evergreen trees guarded the bay like ancient powerful sentinels protecting a dark secret. A clear blue sky shone brightly overhead and a soft breeze danced through the air.

The harsh cry of sea gulls echoed throughout the bay accompanied by the flapping of wings and the occasional splash as they dove in and out of the water in search of fish to eat. A lonely dismal-looking hut with a crudely-fashioned roof of thatched straw stood a few feet away. A small table with a couple of chairs was positioned in front of it. Fish and herbs were hung from a lean-to frame lashed together with twine.

A short ways away from that was a dart board made of straw and painted with what could have been blood. A bow and arrows leaned against the tree near it and looked to have been used lately. Inside the hut was just as bleak for it only contained a small chest and a sleeping cot as well as a simple hearth comprised of a ring of stones and a hole in the roof to let out smoke. The hut only had one window and a creaking wooden door that was opened to keep out the heat.

But the young man on the dock ignored all of this, even the quaint-looking reed boat tethered to the wooden platform he stood on. The young man had messy black hair that fell to his shoulders and piercing green eyes that were now closed as he revelled in the morning stillness and peaceful tranquillity. His hideout was so far away from civilization that an ethereal, otherworldly calm prevailed constantly although it was these soothing moments in the early morning that he enjoyed the most.

He always got up early and would go for his traditional swim in the lake. He would then go fishing, hunting, and forage in the woods for fruits, nuts, and berries that were edible. It was a harsh rigorous life but he loved it. He didn't have much else to love, everything and everyone he had loved once upon a time had been taken away from him. Even now he felt a thrill of pain shoot through every fibber in his being as he thought of his lost loved ones: His mother, his father, his little sister who was no older than twelve. None of his friends survived either.

The war claimed them all, the damned Titan War. He only survived because he escaped, because he was a coward. He had been young then and now he felt like an old man although he was only in mid-twenties, perhaps. It was hard to tell since he had lived out here in the wild for so long. He had been but a lad when he had been whisked away from his home, the Village of Manhattan. As was the custom during wartime, every legible boy and girl were taken away at the age of twelve to be trained in battle and strategy at the infamous Camp Half-Blood.

Some youths loved it since they had horrible lives at home. Some were orphans or neglected children whose parents hated them for whatever reason so they were more than eager to be trained as warriors and possibly even become heroes in battle. But not him. The young man had had a good life in times past. He was blissfully ignorant and carefree, living in a tranquil paradise that now seemed too good to be true. Although he came from a rather poor family, they survived and were not steeped in poverty.

He had a loving mother and father, Sally and Paul Jackson. He had a younger sister named Bernadette and she was always laughing and smiling even during times when dinner was but a hard biscuit salvaged from the waste bins in the village square. But then they were both taken to Camp Half-Blood for training, when it became obvious that war was eminent against the power-hungry and blood-thirsty Titans. Age old enemies, the Titans had been banished from the kingdom for treachery and trying to usurp the throne.

Now they were back with a vengeance and so much had changed. Even before the war started, tragedy struck. Percy's sister was a small and frail thing. She had no interest in fighting and was a kind-hearted child. If anything, the young man thought she would grow up to be a Healer. Sadly, she did not survive the journey to Camp since Mother Nature unleashed her pent-up rage. The young man himself barely even survived the storm and was bed-ridden for three miserable days with a deathly cough and a fever.

After that, he heard his sister died in the storm and vowed revenge. He had been ignorant and naive back then. He did not have a clue what a real war was like although he heard tales of ancient battles from the local storyteller, Mr. Brunner – a centaur, who turned out to be one of the leaders of the Camp, a camp he came to hate. He never fit in there, being a scrawny weakling from a poor family. Most of the youths there had years of experience already coming from Noble families or, at least, richer ones then him.

They knew how to fight while he always fumbled with a blade, tripped over a spear, and could barely even hold a bow and arrow properly let alone use one in the heat of battle. But war waited for no man and this time it was no different. The Titan War descended upon them with a surprise attack at Camp Half-Blood. Where better to strike first then at the place that trained the kingdom's warriors and possible heroes?

The young man lost the few friends he made in that ambush and was badly wounded himself. He fought on though and finally learned how to fight in the battle that commenced. Many other battles were fought. Some were won but some were lost. The young man became a captain and watched his men die as they were forced to retreat more often than not due to the sheer amount of numbers their demonic enemies, the Titans, possessed.

Then one night, they were betrayed. The young man's first in command, one Luke Castellan, turned out to be a spy in their midst. The young captain had been celebrating a hard victory with his men after a recent battle. Most of them were drunk and their captain was even drunker. They were reckless and chaotic as they laughed and joked amongst themselves, although it was mostly gallows humour as if they knew they were going to die that night.

Of course, this played perfectly into the traitors hands as Luke opened the gates to their battle camp at midnight when they were all passed out from their riotous drinking and feasting. Dozens of soldiers were slaughtered and the few who awoke were too sleepy and surprised to do anything. It was manslaughter and Luke was at the forefront of the enemy, leading them on as the Titans wrecked havoc burning and pillaging.

The captain had felt uncomfortable during the feast and hadn't fallen asleep like the rest. Despite the unprecedented amount of ale he drank, he could not fall asleep. Instead, he sat by the fire in the middle of the camp in a dazed stupor staring listlessly into the flames. He wondered why he was chosen for all this warfare and bloodshed. There had been so much death and destruction that he didn't even feel human anymore. He felt like an empty shell, a weapon, a tool.

What was the point of all this damned fighting if there was nothing worth fighting for? They could continue spilling each other's blood until there was no one left on the face of the earth but what would be the point? The victory they won that day had been a hollow victory for there was no one with the captain who was worth celebrating with. He did not feel happy and joyous as his men did and for that he felt guilty and ashamed. But he had to put on a brave front for his men, to boost the moral.

Now it seemed it did little good. His whole life had just been one cycle of tragedies. Shortly after his sister had died, he had received word at Camp Half-Blood that a Titan raid had sacked his home and the Village of Manhattan. They had burned down every house, slaughtered all the men, raped the women, and sold the children as slaves. His parents and sister were dead and so were his friends.

Now his men were dying as he fought like an insane berserker. He probably killed some of his own men in the process for it was extremely dark being in the dead of night. They were all asleep so no one had time to light the torches and the fire was barely flickering having almost died while they all slept in their blankets and cots.

It was pitch black and, worse yet, raining as the storm clouds that had long-since been brewing exploded in torrents of fury. It was chaos. The man killed dozens of Titans in the most disgusting horrible ways he could think of. They just came naturally to him as he let his baser, animalistic side take over and propel him into action. But it wasn't enough. The Titans just kept pouring in and the man was exhausted.

He had lost too many men. It would be suicide. Not to mention the Minotaur. He watched as the beast of the Underworld itself, the size of ten men and the strength of a hundred, slay scores of soldiers. He was exhausted, drunk, and Luke's betrayal hit him hard. Completely overwhelmed, he caved and sounded the retreat. He told his men to flee for their lives and he did the same.

He ran with all his might and strength. He ran for days and nights upon end, never sleeping, never resting. He only drank enough water to keep him going so that he could run some more. All throughout his flight, nightmares flashed before his opened eyes. He could hear the screams of pain from the men under his command who died in the battle, no – the massacre. The faces of his mother, father, sister, and friends appeared before him. They were red with rage and their hands were clenched as if they wanted to strangle him. They blamed him for their deaths and called him a coward, and worse than a bastard and a dog for escaping from the fight.

He was a battle-hardened warrior who had seen many deaths and had been forced to sound the retreat before. Why was this time so different? But he was now not only a coward but a deserter. When news leaked out about his escape, and it would, he would be labelled an outlaw. A bounty would be placed on his head and he could be shot on sight without anyone getting in trouble or he could be captured and taken to the capitol where he would be beheaded as a war criminal, an enemy of the kingdom. It was all his fault and he was unworthy to live. Why didn't he see the treachery coming? Why couldn't he tell that Luke was a spy?

He was supposed to know his men through and through, being their captain and all. And yet, he failed to see the most important factor in any of them. Any of them could betray him at any time. Such things happened in war, he knew. But he never counted it as a possibility. He and his men were a close-knit bunch. They were more like brothers than comrades in arms. But now they were dead and he had gone rogue. He couldn't face anyone anymore and did not even deserve to.

So he had fled for his life to the edge of the kingdom in the thick of the wild. There were dark creatures and monsters here that even the Titans feared. It was a safer place then back at home though. It was far away from his bloody past and he wanted to keep it that way. For the first short while, he missed human companionship and almost went mad with loneliness and sorrow and pain. But then he overcame it and grew numb.

Now he was akin to a wraith, possessing no emotions or feelings whatsoever. The war had stripped that of him. He could enjoy things but that didn't matter so much. He revelled in the peace though. It always gave him a flicker of hope that there was more to his bleak and dismal existence, that perhaps there was a chance to redeem himself. If anyone remembered he was still alive.

Heaving a sigh, Percy Jackson took a deep breath and kicked off the wharf. He leapt into the air, soaring like a bird, and plunged expertly into the water. A mighty splash sounded as miniature waves sprang up around him and the water rippled as he dove into its depths. He twisted and turned as he swam rapidly, doing his traditional amount of laps. Swimming always helped to clear his head and shake him of his misery and gloom.

The icy cold water gave him the shock he needed to wake up every morning and the blessed freshness of the water gave him the strength he needed to continue on with his day. All too soon, his sacred swim was over and he was gasping for breath as he hauled himself up onto the dock. Droplets of water rolled off his muscled back and he shook his messy black hair making water fall in all directions.

When he came back to himself, however, he realized that a pair of black leather riding boots stood on the docks a foot in front of him. Frowning in confusion, his emerald eyes trailed up following a pair of glorious long, slender legs. They were clothed in dark brown trousers and the person, a young woman, wore a dark green tunic with short sleeves rolled up at her arms revealing luscious tanned skin that looked like it was crying out to be touched.

The woman wore a heavy dark cloak that billowed in the morning wind. It covered her face but not her pert breasts that made Percy swallow hard especially when he saw her arms crossed purposefully over her chest. Percy knew this type. This woman meant business. He had no time to think about it though for a crisp voice emanated from the mysterious woman's hooded face.

"Seize him!" She ordered.

Instantly, two pairs of burly hands grabbed Percy and pulled him out of the water. Percy struggled and put up a good fight but the men were stronger and soon had him on his knees, a pair of iron hand cuffs snapped onto his wrists. Percy panted for breath as he relented, knowing he was not in any position to fight.

He was sorely out of practice and did not have any weapons with him. He was caught off guard though when the woman pulled back her hood slowly but surely. Instantly, beautiful blond curls spilled out and fell down her back. Stormy gray eyes bored holes into Percy's head but he didn't care.

He was too shocked and dumfounded as the woman revealed herself for he could recognize that face anywhere: It was the face of his old childhood rival at Camp Half-Blood – Annabeth Chase. Unfortunately for Percy though, the woman wasn't through with the shocks yet for she had another card up her sleeve.

"Perseus Jackson," She said softly, her voice icy and full of steel. "I have an offer for you: An offer of redemption."

**TO BE CONTINUED!**

**A/N:** Sooooooo... What do you think of my latest endeavour? Should I continue it? And what was that all about Percy having a rivalry with Annabeth? Also were his friends any of the characters mentioned in the PJO books? And what is this offer of redemption Annabeth speaks of? Stay tuned for more and all shall be revealed unto you!

*bows low before audience and walks away mysteriously*

LoL, seriously though. Was it good, bad, or horrible? I really appreciate your advice and feedback people so please bestow upon me whatever you have to say even if it's rants or whatever. I look forward to your response.

Until next time!


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